Death Instinct
by Raven Blanchard
Summary: "There must be something about this river, huh?" Shinonome Mei, who was once Not Mei, dumps a body into a river one night, and runs into a boy doing the same. [OC/SI as Mei] [J-Drama World]


_BLURB: "There must be something about this river, huh?" Shinonome Mei, who was once Not Mei, dumps a body into a river one night, and runs into a boy doing the same. [OC/SI as Mei] [J-Drama World]_

\--

 **2100 H**

 **Tenryū River**

 **(Undisclosed location)**

All things considered, it wasn't that difficult to throw a five-foot-ten, fifty-seven year-old overweight chronic alcoholic over a bridge and into the dark, churning waters of the Tenryū -- jowls and potbelly and all. It took quite a bit of effort, but it was hardly the Herculean task she had assumed it would be. Mei supposes having the man's body in a sack helps a modicum, her strong grip on its knotted mouth and her arm's solid musculature -- both firmly earned from countless of hours kneading udon dough -- aiding her in this endeavour. Despite Kento's teasing her for having "noodle arms," Mei is quite certain she has enough strength in her _noodles_ to down a grown man with a single left uppercut. This has been proven true numerous times over the course of her life.

... Or _lives_. Whatever. Technicalities never bothered her overmuch. If they did, then she'd be far more repentant and very much _imprisoned_.

It is quite nice though, that for this particular instance they don't apply to her. It would be blessedly hard for the authorities to put together that such a large man was brutally murdered and mutilated by a _petite fourteen-year-old girl with a sweet smile and doe eyes_. No. They would not say such a thing is impossible, but they would think it, as it is highly unlikely. The victim was considerably bulky, was strangulated and chopped up, and then tossed into a river in a sack, so they would be looking for a psychotic man of similar or larger physique. Technically, _obviously_ , the perpetrator could only be such a person.

Ha.

Mei, as little as she cares for technicalities, finds it completely hilarious how easy it is to play around them.

Frankly though, putting the man's body in a sack -- or at least chopping him up so that the considerable bulk of his carcass would actually _fit_ in it -- proved a far more arduous and exhausting task than throwing his remains off a bridge.

Mei sighs and watches as the sack, containing the hefty limbs and entrails of who was once Furukawa Jirou, slowly but steadily descend into the darkness of the Tenryū's brackish depths. A hastily made-up excuse of "visiting Kento-kun," a phone call to Kento that she's _out shopping for otō-san's birthday gift_ , and a quick trip to the ninth longest river in Japan, guarantees her alibi secure and airtight. Not that she'd ever need one, as she's not even for the running in the list of people who would _gain_ from Furukawa's death. She's never even met the man before tonight, nor does she know anyone who has. Furukawa was just a job, one Mei was hired to do, as unaware as her unwitting employer may be. It's all quite interesting really, very _Strangers On A Train_ -esque. She's not about to be suspected for the murder of a man she has absolutely no connections to. This is by design. There are few things Mei would forgive herself for, and sloppiness definitely isn't one of them. The male-styled wig, chest binder, and carefully-crafted male hobo ensemble she dons certainly confirms this.

She takes no pleasure in watching Furukawa get swallowed by the river, takes no pleasure in killing him, even, but she does take some measure of peace from it. Her employer, a little ten-year-old boy who left an envelope containing a letter and a thousand yen -- probably his own savings -- in an old, beat-up Honda in the middle of a junkyard, had asked "Shinigami-sama" to please make his uncle Jirou go away, because he's tired of having the man's pee-pee in his butt. It always hurt every time his uncle played with him.

Mei notices that she's gritting her teeth again, a habit she got from remembering what depravities her targets often engaged in, and sighs.

She hears a splash nearby, and she quickly spins around.

Dark eyes meet hers, and she realizes that she has just witnessed someone doing the same thing she had only moments ago.

"Don't worry," she hears the person say. A boy, at the cusp of adulthood, with an angelic face and dark curls forming a halo around his fave. "I won't tell if you won't."

Mei very nearly snorts at that. Even if the boy told, there isn't much about her current look that links to her identity. She's not an amateur.

Instead she shrugs, walks over to his side of the bridge, and keeps silent. She can afford some mistakes, such as beeing seen by people, but her voice isn't quite deep enough to pass for a man's. Or even a teenage boy's. It was unfortunate, but some things one just has to live with.

The boy, attired in what seems to be an écru button-up Armani shirt and slim-cut corduroys, looks completely out of place in the desolate bridge. He looks like he should be in a dinner party somewhere, mingling with uptight corporate mokes in some rich politician's soirée. He frowns upon her lack of reply, but makes no gesture of aggression. Instead he sighs, deflates into himself, and continues, "He was a job, you know. I didn't even know him. I was just ordered by--" He cuts himself off with a violent shake of his head. "Being what I am, I'm expected to follow orders absolutely and without second thought. How am I supposed to do that though, when my orders are against what I believe?"

Mei thinks the boy is being overly dramatic. Orders are _orders_ , that's all there is to it, and if the orders go against your principles? Well, if all orders in the world were nice and moral, then there'd be no orders in the world at all, just _favors_ , because then everyone would be just fine with doing them.

She nods though, because her jaded principles aren't something she'd expect anyone else to believe. Some people are just too pure, too beautifully _human_ , to do what she does unflinchingly.

The boy seems to sober up and turns to her. "Who was yours?"

She raises a brow at him, wondering if he was really expecting her to tell. Is he some kind of retard? A lot of things are forgivable for a first timer like him, but _seriously_?

He seems to sense the utter stupidity of his question, and amends. "Was yours a... Was he or she a bad person?"

Ah. That, she can answer. She nods, vehemently.

Oh yes. Furukawa was a _bad person_ , alright. But to be honest she's killed worse.

She's _been_ worse.

"At least yours is somewhat justified," he mopes. "I don't even know what mine did to my... boss, to deserve to be killed. As much as I watched him, I couldn't see the reason why he absolutely must die."

Maybe that's the problem, she thinks. Humans, intrinsically, don't really deserve to be killed. When you watch your target long enough, you start to wonder if they deserve what you're planning for them. And then you realize. Despite crimes, despite heinous deeds, despite _everything_ , all life is sacred. Even your target's. And that truth never becomes more apparent -- more inescapable and _agonizing_ \-- than it does as you watch the life slowly leave their eyes. It comes with the sudden realization that, _wait, this person could still change, could still be better, should I really end them before they could?_ The heart-stopping doubt that nearly steals your breath away, but it's too late, they're dying. Then they just... die, leaving you with a million questions and not a single answer.

Then you do it again, to someone else, and see if your questions get answered this time.

And again, and again, and _again_.

Mei never got an answer. Even after years, _lives_ , of doing what she does, she still has no idea how to get one. It forever eludes her ears, dissipating into the very air itself so quickly, right in that infinitesimal moment between a last breath and nothingness.

A car zooms past behind Mei and the boy. The first one in hours.

She looks at him, at this boy who has all the right questions but none of the tenacity to ask them again. The silence between the two of them is like a yawning chasm spreading wider and wider, because as much as she understands the boy, he would probably not understand her at all. Not for a very long time. She wonders if anyone ever would.

It gives her hope, however. She digs into her pockets and fishes out a small card, and hands it to him.

The boy stares at it with wide eyes. "Is this...?"

She nods and shrugs simultaneously.

"You'll _help_ me... do these things? I wouldn't have to... kill people... on my own?" He asks hopefully. His shoulders drooping in apparent relief.

She nods again, and fights the urge to smile.

She wants to help him, yes, but he doesn't know that she is, more than anything, a selfish creature. As she helps him ease his conscience, he'd be helping her. Killing with her. Asking with her. Wondering with her.

And if she never does get a single answer to her questions, then at least she wouldn't be alone anymore in her perturbation.

Misery loves company.

\--

 **A/N: This has been sitting in my phone for more than a month, PLEASE DON'T SCOLD ME I'LL SERIOUSLY STUDY NOW!** **Reviews are love, y'all. I need me some love.** **Also, did anyone catch the Rihito description? LOL anyway, I haven't seen a single page of the manga, but in the show, Sebastian Michaelis (I mean SHIBATA RIHITO, damn it, Mizushima Hiro being cast as a butler twice is messing me up) is good at stopping assassination attempts. In my humble opinion, assassins make the best bodyguards, since they know exactly what to look for. And so begins my headcanon that Rihito has a very Battousai-like past, lol.**


End file.
